


Ice Is Also Great

by periwinklepromise



Series: Some Say The World Will End [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assorted minor characters from Westeros and Essos, Can be read alone, Dark!Dany (mentioned), Found Family, Gen, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Minor Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Modern Westeros, POV Jon Snow, Past Abuse, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Past Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Self-Esteem Issues, abuse recovery, assorted minor ships for the Starks, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periwinklepromise/pseuds/periwinklepromise
Summary: "Take as much time as you need," Sansa assured him.All Jon had was time.After leaving his abusive girlfriend for good, Jon moves in with his new friend Sansa, starts rebuilding his life, and finds a family in the North.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (...And now for the finale!)
> 
> For those new to this series, welcome! And don't worry; the first two fics aren't necessary to understand this one, though of course I recommend them if you're interested in the Jon & Sansa dynamic or this version of a modern Westeros. In this series, we see the various ways Jon was abused by Dany, and then we see him learn to leave her. Now, he is showing up at Sansa's with Ghost and a couple of bags.
> 
> For returning readers, welcome back!! I'm super excited for this part of Jon's journey, and I hope you are too!

“Mother of us all, are you _okay_? Come in, come in.” Sansa ushered him in, looking past him as she stepped aside and waved him along. Her hands were on his shoulders, his face, his hands taking away his two bags and Ghost's leash. Where was Ghost?

There was a couch, or a chair. He sat. He found Ghost. There was an extra dog in the room, someone not Ghost. Blurs of color, lots of blurs. Was he shaking? He was shaking. He was cold? Yes, he was cold. His eyes hurt. More blurs.

A blanket appeared on his shoulders. Force on his shoulders, the world tilted sideways. Darkness. Silence.

Peace.

Jon drifted to waking slowly. The dogs noticed first, Ghost springing up to him, a calm husky following. Sansa had a husky, he reminded himself.

Sansa. 

He jolted, then regretted it. 

“Careful, Jon.” 

He nodded. “What time -”

“Noon. You were out for almost seven hours,” Sansa provided from her position in the window seat across the room. “You should eat.”

He shook his head. “Not hungry.” Then he cleared his throat. “Um. Shower?”

Sansa nodded and pointed down a hallway. “All yours.”

He grabbed one bag and stumbled down the hall. The bathroom was clean and bright, and he kept his eyes mostly shut so he wouldn't have to see so much. He stripped out of his clothes and folded them slowly. His hand brushed against the phone still in his pocket.

Should he get rid of it? It was on their – on Dany's account. He smoothed his thumb against the screen. They didn't have joint accounts anymore; there wasn't a them anymore. He opened his bank account and transferred the rest of the money he hadn't had time to move slowly. His money was his. Dany could keep hers.

He must have blacked out in the shower – he stood in the spray til his skin was bright red, dried out, overheated. Steam everywhere. The mirror told him he was dead. It was how he felt. 

But he still had a pulse, so he dried himself off and put on the softest clothes he could find in his bag and shuffled out of Sansa's bathroom. 

She had moved to the table, where there was a pizza box. “Here, have something to eat.”

He grimaced as he sat across from her. “Not hungry.” He should be, he recognized in a distant sort of way, he hadn't eaten in hours.

“You should eat anyway,” she told him. “The only reason I didn't starve when I got away was Arya. You know, she set a timer for it. Every four hours, she made me eat, until I was ready to eat on my own again.”

He gave a weak look of disbelief. “You let Arya tell you what to do?” From what he remembered of the Stark girls, Sansa was always the one to boss around Arya, not that she seemed very successful.

Sansa's gaze grew hard. “I let anyone tell me what to do. For a long time. But Arya only ever tries to keep me alive.”

He could laugh, if he had the energy. Sansa and Arya were what, best friends now? But lots of things had changed – why not this?

He ate a slice of pizza. It could have been paper for all he paid attention, but he ate it. 

Sansa set up a little station for Ghost, and gave Jon linens for the couch after dinner. “I can stay home from work tomorrow, if you'd like.”

He outfitted the couch for himself and sat down. “Oh, no, go on with your life like normal, I don't want to be a bother.”

Sansa did not respond, so he glanced up at her. When she caught his eye, she said very deliberately, “You're allowed to want things, you know.”

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

“But I'll go to work. Good night. Get some sleep.” She nodded and went to her room. 

He moved down to the floor and hugged Ghost close. After a few minutes, he started shaking again. His head felt hot and heavy, and there was too much pressure, he could feel his pulse pounding faster than he could sob, gods, he'd left, he'd left her, she knew he was gone, how could he breathe, he couldn't breathe, but he kept quiet and cried into Ghost's fur until his head ached too much to continue. He was tired, so tired. But the fear cleared, and he crawled up to the couch and burrowed in and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da!
> 
> I think it's only fair to tell you all that I've enabled comment moderation for this fic - any comment _pertinent_ to this work (ie not meta) that I believe was _made in good faith_ (ie not flame) will be approved. Thanks for being understanding!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Lady

He woke before dawn the next morning, even without an alarm. He'd gotten so used to Dany waking up so early that now he didn't know how to sleep in. But he stayed curled up on the couch until sleep overtook him again.

When he woke again, there were extra dishes near the sink and Sansa's keys were gone. But Ghost needed to stretch his legs. There was a backdoor, lined with tools, and when he opened the door to let Ghost out, Sansa's husky Lady rushed in to say hello. 

She was a beautiful beast. Light gray lined up her snout, along her ears, and all down her back, but her stomach and legs were all white as snow. He motioned for her to sit, and she did easily. Her eyes were icy blue and kind. He thought Sansa's eyes might be the same color.

“Hello, Lady,” he breathed. 

Her tail swept across the ground, but she stayed sitting. 

“Good, girl,” he whispered to her, giving her a good petting down. “Do you want to go for a walk?” At the word _walk_ , she stood and expressed as much as excitement as she could. “Yeah, I thought so.” He glanced around. “Where's your leash? Walk, Lady, let's go for a walk!”

She hurried over to a rack at the front door, where an extra coat and what he guessed was Lady's leash and collar hung next to what he knew was Ghost's set. He whistled for him, suited up both dogs, and stuffed his feet into his running shoes. 

He meant to map the neighborhood, scope out the streets for later runs, but he ended up walking along the same square over and over, until the dogs were panting for a break. When he returned to Sansa's front porch, Jon realized he'd left the place unlocked. He couldn't let that happen again.

After the dogs rested, he sat on the couch for a long time. Not thinking of anything at all, he pet Ghost for who knows how long – hours, maybe. When he moved, it was to clean.

He only had to check a couple of cabinets to find the right materials – cleaning agents, microfiber cloths, rubber gloves to protect his skin – and then he began. He started at the front door, sanitized the handle and the locks, smoothed over a stray scratch from who knew how long ago, and worked his way right. The walls, the furniture, the baseboards. Some items in the kitchen were not well known to him, so he let those be, but he scrubbed down everything he thought safe.

When Sansa opened the front door, and she did not say hello but stared at him in shock, he realized how much time must have passed. 

“Um. I cleaned.”

Sansa did not respond, but something strange happened in her eyes. He didn't think she was mad, but maybe he should have asked before rifling through her home. Sansa took in a deep breath that he saw but did not hear. He tensed, even though her voice was calm. “Did Daenerys used to make you clean for her?”

“No, she – she didn't _make_ me.” He shrugged. It was just something he did, to help smooth out the edges. He'd cleaned a lot back at the Watch, it wasn't a big deal. He was better at cleaning than she was, anyway.

“You do not have to clean my home, Jon. You don't have to pay your way. You are welcome here, for as long as you need. I had people who did this for me, when I needed it, and now I'm going to do this for you.” She took off her suitcoat and placed her keys gently on her side table, then moved two steps into the room, hands loose at her side. She doesn't seem angry. “And maybe one day, you'll know someone who needs this too, and you can do it for them.”

His eyes felt odd. Too tight, and there was a stinging at the back. He had cleaned too much, he needed to blink too much.

“Thank you for cleaning, Jon. I'm happy you're making yourself comfortable. I don't like half-drunk teacups left about the house; cleaning the stains can be frustrating. Is there anything like that for you I should know about? Any kinds of mess you dislike?”

He just shook his head.

“Okay. I'm going to get changed, then I thought I'd cook dinner. Is there anything you don't like to eat? Or any allergies?”

He shook his head. But, wait, that wasn't true. “No strawberries,” he provided, thinking of Viserion hanging limp like lettuce, of Dany's hands held so rigid like claws. “I … I don't like strawberries.”

Not anymore.

“No strawberries,” Sansa agreed with a smile. “How do you feel about lemons?”

Jon tried to return it. “Lemon cakes,” he said, nodding. “I remember.” Then he cleared his throat and took off his rubber gloves – obviously he was done cleaning for the day. “Lemons are okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon works on his To Do list

Jon fell into a routine at Sansa's; it was easier than he had expected. He gave himself an important task once a day – he emptied his new bank account into coins and then deposited it all to a new one, one Dany could not find or trace. He borrowed Sansa's laptop to scope out places to rent or buy, made lists of possibilities, decided to rent for the near future so it wouldn't have to be permanent. So he wouldn't have to make yet another big decision. Not yet. 

He sent out a dozen applications for apartments, houses, some no bigger than cottages on the outskirts of minor strongholds. No big decisions, he reminded himself. Find a place, find a job, that was the plan. If anyone could call that a plan. But there were a couple options he was excited for – a house in Harrenhal, a small studio apartment in Oldtown, a little place up near Widow's Watch where it would be cold enough for Ghost. 

He played with Ghost for hours every day, groomed him and Lady til their coats shone and Sansa cooed over how ladylike she looked. He could tell Ghost loved all the space, the way he stretched out now that he was not being locked away in a kennel any time Jon wasn't around and sometimes even when he was, the way he loped around in Sansa's small yard and returned to the house panting and grinning.

Jon got restless, sometimes. He walked the streets with Ghost, one hand on the leash, one hand in his pocket. He kept his head down mostly, didn't want to make conversation with other people out and about, didn't want to be noticed.

The walks weren't as long as they used to be. But he guessed they didn't have to be, not anymore.

A few days ago, he'd been invited to visit an apartment on Rhaenys's Hill, on the side not looking out over Flea Bottom. It was on the second floor, so there wasn't a great view, but there was a park just down the street for Ghost to stretch out in, and the landlord didn't even charge a pet fee. While the landlord wasn't pleased he didn't have current employment, Jon assured him he would soon, so he was told he'd be contacted in a few days about his safety deposit to secure the lease. 

And yesterday, he had sent out some job applications on Sansa's computer, but not as many as he would have liked. So many of the posts he'd found had requirements for recommendation letters, and he would have a hard time getting his hands on any if he refused to speak to his former employer. 

So his task for the day was to call Lyanna. He'd already decided that if she didn't answer, he wouldn't leave a message, just try again tomorrow.

He was hoping she didn't answer.

But she did. Lyanna herself, since he'd put the call straight through to her desk's extension, with a brisk, “Councilor Mormont speaking.” He meant to respond, but it was like his throat had frozen solid. “This is Councilor Mormont, is anyone there?”

“Yes!” he grit out. He cleared his throat. “Yes, this is Jon. Jon Snow.”

“Jon!” There was a strange rustling on the line, like she'd moved documents away from her, or rolled her chair towards herself. “Jon, are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I'm okay.”

Lyanna let out a rush of air against the speaker. “Jon Snow, how you could do something reckless and rushed, I will never understand. The Gold Cloaks had to go through your desk, they thought there had been foul play until we found your note. Thank you, for giving us that. It gave us enough that I could tell them to leave you be.”

“Thank you.” He'd imagined Lyanna hanging up on him. Her cursing his name for hours. Her turning him over to Dany – he hadn't considered the Gold Cloaks at all. The kindness, the concern, he hadn't imagined that. He'd assumed the worst. It was a bad habit, and an old one.

“Are you really okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Really.” Or at least, he was getting there. He _would_ get there. Eventually. 

“Are you coming back?”

He wanted to. Not go back to Dany, of course not, but to Lyanna, to his job? Yes, he wanted to. But it just wasn't possible, and they both knew it. “...No.”

“So,” Lyanna coughed, and there was another scuffling noise. “Why did you call?”

“Oh! Right. Um. I'm moving on. Looking for jobs. I was wondering if I could have a recommendation letter?” he blurted. Then he backtracked, “But of course, I understand I did not end my employment properly and you have every right to refuse -”

“Jon!” Lyanna cut him off easily. 

She still felt like his boss, it still felt like she should get to speak before he did. … But this wasn't like with Dany, it _wasn't_. Lyanna was his _boss_ , not his girlfriend. He shook his head and tried to catch up with what Lyanna was saying, something about paperwork or printing...

“- I can print some out on my official letterhead, maybe a dozen? Would that be enough?”

“Um. I'm not sure.” That sounded like she had agreed. Probably.

“Of course. I can prepare a dozen and a half for you. Where should I have them sent?”

After some thought, he gave her Sansa's address. He could have said the Watch, but that seemed a bit inconvenient. If he found a new place to stay before they arrived, he trusted Sansa would accept them on his behalf.

*

He called the landlord back, from the little place on Rhaenys's Hill. Jon received some sort of hazy apology about the mix-up, but the apartment was no longer available. 

He cleaned the kitchen and informed Sansa when she returned from work. “I may be stuck here for a little while.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

All he had was time.

*

“Jon?”

He had been petting Ghost. The nicest thing about staying at Sansa's was that Ghost was allowed on the furniture. When he got his own place, he was only going to own furniture that Ghost was welcome on. He looked up. 

“Yes, Sansa?”

“I have a friend who was hoping to come visit tonight. Is that alright?”

“Of course, I'll clear out, Ghost could use a walk.”

Sansa waited for him to finish before clarifying, “I would like for you to meet, if that is alright with you. I believe she may have a small position for you.”

He blinked quite a few times. “How small?”

Very small, it turned out. Margaery Tyrell was the chief editor of the prominent fashion magazine Stronger, one that even Dany read in those rare moments she had free time, and Ms Tyrell offered him a temporary position in the mail room. It was located in the basement of a massive building, and she told him frankly that most mail room attendants were considered invisible by the rest of the staff – they came and went like ghosts. Her eyes had flickered to his husky then, and his eyes had followed. He nodded. He could be a ghost, for a time. 

Getting out of the house might be good for him. As long as people didn't expect too much. He didn't feel like a fraud anymore, but this didn't feel like his life either. He was hanging, suspended from something invisible, waiting for something he had not ever known.

To celebrate, Sansa invited him along to the Stark family dinner, held just once a month. But she described it as raucous and long-winded, and he doubted he had the energy to muster. He remembered the rest of the Starks – Sansa was the calmest by far. It would be nice to see the others again, to be in the North again. _Soon_ , he promised himself. He would go North soon.

But for tonight, Jon just wanted to be alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon visits the Watch and chats with old friends

He checked his ticket against the arrival and departure board for the bus station. His bus should be near the end of the terminal, and leaving in fifteen minutes. 

Jon bought a black coffee and paced. He was feeling less restless, but he was about to be sitting on a bus for hours, and he wanted to stretch his legs as much as possible before then. 

Ghost was staying with Lady and Sansa. Ghost didn't like cars, hadn't had much experience riding in them. Everywhere he went with Ghost, they could run to on their own. But if they moved up North, he'd have to ride up at least the one time. 

They'd deal with that possibility if it came to it. 

He boarded the bus, took his seat in the back, and settled in for the long ride. Other passengers brought out books or tablets; one woman took out some needles and yarn. Jon looked down at his empty hands. He had not packed anything to entertain himself on the trip. 

He didn't need to. He had no hobbies, few interests, and any free time he had was spent with Ghost. He tilted in his seat towards the window and watched the city blur to country blur to white.

*

He stood in front of a simple, brutal building, all stark lines and bare gray walls. They didn't waste money on exterior decorations, not when it could go to the boys. But each year, all the boys would make a new sign to hang over the front door, with all their names or their most favorite nicknames ringing around the name of the establishment: **The Night's Watch.**

Jon took in a deep breath. The air smelled the same somehow, clean and faintly of coldsnaps. He walked the grounds slowly, reminding himself of the sheen off the rear windows, the stone that always rocked to the left, the wet worms that lived in the garden beds.

And a young boy, looking just old enough to start at school, trotting up from behind a bush, stopping short at the sight of Jon. A young boy that Jon felt like he had met before, back when he was just as young.

It was a shock to see the little one, staring up at him just like Sam had all those years ago, brown eyes wide with hope and shining bright with interest. It was not possible, of course it wasn't, but he couldn't help but ask in a hush, “Sam?”

“You know me?” the boy asked haltingly.

“Um...”

“Sam! Who are you-- Jon!” A large man rushed forward, and it was Sam, the real Sam, and when he reached Jon, he hugged him so tight that Jon felt like a rag doll. 

“Hello, Samwell,” he said, patting him on the shoulder awkwardly.

Sam pulled back to look at him, raking over Jon's long hair and clean beard, on the clean lines of his roughly tailored clothes. Jon tried to smile at the inspection, and he caught himself doing the same in return – taking in the details of this Sam, comparing them to the one he shared a room with until he moved to King's Landing for university. 

“It's good to see you.”

“It's very good to see you too, Jon.”

“Jon?” chirped the little boy from between them. They split to make more room for him. “Like little brother?”

“Yes, Sam, like your little brother,” his father agreed. His father. 

Gods, Sam was a _father_ , he had _sons_. Jon's brain stalled out for a moment, and words stuttered over his lips. “You named your son after me?”

“Just the second one,” Sam gave a hesitant but warm smile.

Jon's breath released too weakly to be a laugh. There was a boy named after him. And a boy named after Sam. Brothers, just like they had always wanted to be. But they were orphans, and their family would only ever be the Watch.

“Would you like to meet him?” Sam offered.

It did not take much thought to make a decision. “ _Yes._ ”

Sam lived just down the street from the Watch, back behind the school the Watch boys still went to. Sam ran that school now, a scholar and educator just like he had always wanted.

Jon had been a public servant, just like he had always wanted. It was … almost all he'd thought it would be. Jon shook his head, back behind both Sams where they couldn't see.

Big Sam's wife Gilly had a quiet air and very kind eyes. She obviously loved her husband, their sons, their little infant daughter Rhaenys – not named after anyone they actually knew, but Gilly thought the name pretty and powerful, and Sam clearly adored her and would give her anything she asked. 

He met little Jon. A quiet boy with his mother's eyes. 

Jon wondered if he too had his mother's eyes.

*

When he returned to Sansa's home the next day, he was accosted at the door by a dog similar to the ones who lived here, but one he did not actually recognize. “Um?”

“Nymeria! Heel!” a voice called from the living room, and the dog immediately sat, but it did not stop staring at him.

“Nymeria?” he repeated at the dog, who simply cocked its head. “Who do you belong to?”

“She belongs to herself,” the voice cackled, coming closer and a head craning around the wall to look him up and down. “But I'm Arya.”

“Should have known,” he smiled softly.

Arya slipped forward then, petting at her dog and scooping Jon into a half-there hug. “Nice to see you again, Jon.”

“Nice to see you too,” he responded easily. If he and Sam would have been brothers, he would have liked Arya to be his little sister. On those weekends where the Stark family would visit, Arya and he would often play at fighting, until one of her siblings would spot them and put a stop to it … except on those days when Robb wanted to stand off to the side and shout advice to help her win. 

She led him into the living room, where Sansa sat in her favorite blue chair, Lady curled up at her feet. Nymeria joined her there, but Arya sprawled herself out on the couch where Jon slept. Jon joined her, carefully pressed against the arm to give her extra space to lounge. Ghost came by to sniff at Jon, became bored of him, and moved to nudge at Nymeria's tail. 

“Now, I know my tightly wound sister doesn't drink, but care to indulge, Jon?” Arya almost tossed a glass bottle at him. Whiskey. Hadn't had much of that since university, and he hadn't missed it much either. 

He grimaced and shook his head, carefully placing it on the ground near his feet. 

Arya groaned, but she was smiling. “Bunch o' teetotalers.”

“That's us,” Sansa retorted easily, with a prim smirk. So Arya was just joking, Jon decided.

The sisters exchanged news and memories for a couple hours before Sansa retired to her room. He looked over to Arya, to see if she was going to bed soon too. Arya had grown very quiet and still, and her eyes sharpened.

He stood and brushed his hands down his pants. “Would you like anything from the bar?”

“Sansa doesn't have a bar,” Arya corrected him.

Jon shook his head and moved to the kitchen. “Her tea bar,” he clarified. “She says I can try new things here, as long as I don't mess with her labels.” He had been careful, of course, but it was pleasant, mixing new teas, finding out what he liked. Jon had never had so much free time before. 

Arya's voice was calm. “Heard you had your own Joffrey.”

Jon froze, blinked slowly. “She told you?”

“Told me enough.” 

There was a rustle, and then silence. Jon turned to look at her, shocked to find she was right next to him. The Arya he remembered never did anything silently. Young Arya had been brash and volatile, and yes, sometimes she had done sweet things for her younger brothers or her father, but she had never been _quiet_ about it.

“You don't have to tell me anything. I don't need to know. But _you_ need to know that we'll be here for you. Here,” she handed him a scrap of paper. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

He stared down at the numbers. 

_“Okay?”_

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” Arya nodded resolutely and took a tin of tea leaves to shake in her hands. “Message me so I can have your number too. Robb's coming down soon with his husband, I can let you know when.”

Jon leaned against the counter and huffed out a laugh. “Robb has a husband? Someone actually agreed to marry him?” 

Arya snorted. “Theon's an idiot.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at her. “You wouldn't mean _Theon Greyjoy_ , would you?”

“Well, it's Theon _Stark_ now,” Arya informed him, “But yeah, he's a Greyjoy. Why, you know him?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “He's Asha's primary aide for the Council. He never said his married name was Stark.” He shrugged and conceded, “But then, we were never really close.”

“Worlds are smaller than they seem,” Arya said, a far away look in her eye. 

“Um. Yes. I suppose they are.”

Arya's gaze cleared and she forced eye contact once more. “I'm gonna head out. Remember what I said, okay?”

This time, he smiled when he repeated back, “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Theon visit, and Arya tells Jon about her job

Jon stood over a counter covered with small bottles and shiny tins, comparing Sansa's careful handwritten notes of their flavors and possible medicinal properties. All types of tea made sense to him, the various herbs, even most of the flower petals and stems and thorns probably helped in some way. Why she had bloodbloom petals was beyond him, and he certainly wasn't going to ask. … Though thankfully, the bottle seemed untouched.

He moved that bottle to the back of the counter and kept searching.

He mostly focused on Northern plants, and Sansa kept many in large supply, visiting the North regularly to collect and forage. She said it helped her feel connected to the world around her.

He hadn't heard anything back from his latest installment of residency applications. He would probably send more out in a few days, but it was honestly a little exhausting to send the same information over and over. One of these days, someone would want him.

He scurried away from the thought. 

Arya had texted him when Robb and Theon began their journey South an hour ago, and informed Jon they had already decided to stop by “yours and Sansa's place” tonight.

So he decided to make tea. Something with lemon, and maybe rose. Sansa had some blue rose petals, very rare, so he felt those should really be saved for something special. He moved to classic red instead, and added a heap of strong black tea leaves. 

Sansa had written a little book of how to properly brew which leaves, even though she had them all memorized. Jon always checked the notes at the tick of every minute, just in case. Sansa had a lot of confidence in herself; it was difficult to not feel envious. 

The Starks showed up in a group, spilling into the house in a loud chaos he was starting to associate with the entire family. But maybe all large groups just acted in this way? He knew the Watch, and now the Starks. He wasn't sure university kids should count. 

Sansa and Arya, of course, he knew. And he recognized Theon from all the times he'd accompanied his sister to Council functions, Jon with Lyanna or Dany, so out of everyone, Robb was the most jarring. He was all grown, a man of his own right, with a neat beard on his face, his red curls carefully controlled for once. They had all grown so much.

“Robb, Theon, meet my friend Jon Snow,” Arya announced with an oddly controlled flourish.

“ _Your_ friend Jon Snow?” Robb protested grandly. “I was friends with Jon long before you were, you little shrimp.” That was true, he thought, but they hadn't spoken for years. Both perspectives had their merits.

“As if,” Arya scoffed, dismissing arguments like she always had – like so many of the Starks did. “He's mine.”

“No, he's mine!” Robb tossed himself into a scuffle with Arya, and everyone laughed, and Jon should be laughing but he wasn't, he couldn't-

Shoulders back against the wall, pale hands clenched in fists, heavy words of ownership and belonging, violet eyes too close, too close-

“Oh, knock it off, you wolves, or I'm throwing you out,” Sansa said calmly, as she sidestepped her siblings with an easy eyeroll. 

Arya separated herself seamlessly, too smooth for the rough and tumble girl Jon remembered. Robb shook it off easily, and that was familiar enough. Sansa caught his eye for a moment, something quiet and simple, and he twitched out a nod to her.

“So how's the Foundation?” Arya flopped down onto the couch, taking up as much space as her slim form could, and Jon did not freeze when Robb pushed her legs out of the way to make room for himself.

“It's going well.” Theon sat next to his husband and took his hand away from poking his sister. “We're thinking we'll finish visiting all the class A schools in the Northern mainland before spring, and then we can cover the islands and the Riverlands.”

Jon sat in the cushioned chair far away from the others. “Schools?” He didn't recall Asha or her brother promoting education concerns on the Council, but something might have changed in the last couple weeks.

“We co-chair the No More Foundation,” Theon started with a recited air, the sort of speech he must have given a hundred times before. “It's a program hoping for an end to childhood bullying, pushing for safer learning environments. We provide information, training for teachers, counseling for victims and previous perpetrators,” Theon shrugged. “Whatever the kids need.”

“Theon founded it,” Robb bragged, giving the man a kiss on the cheek. “I just help run it. But yeah, we're visiting all the schools in the North right now, starting the conversation, getting the ball rolling.”

“We know it's impossible to eliminate bullying, but we can still make a difference. You could make a difference too? We've got a job opening; it's yours if you want it,” Theon offered.

Oh. Well, that was. That was very nice of them, really. “I … I need some time,” he stuttered out, wrapping his arms around himself. “And besides, it'd be better if I don't work at too high of a level. I don't want to. Um. Gather any attention.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we'll be here,” Theon gave him a crooked smile and cuddled into Robb. Arya made a noise of disgust at the display and pushed at Robb with her feet.

Jon moved to the kitchen before they could start fighting again. Even if it was just pretend. He helped Sansa cook and serve, stayed mostly quiet during the conversation, just watching and listening, helped clean up after. It felt kind of like hosting, but without all the fake smiles. Robb and the rest, they didn't mind if he kept to himself.

It was … kind of nice. To be allowed to be quiet, if he wanted.

Robb and Theon left a little after dinner to head back to their hotel, but Arya stayed to mix drinks and play with Ghost. Ghost got along with Arya pretty well; it was like she understood him, the way she understood the rest of the dogs. She wrestled with him, didn't mind getting scraped up.

There was a bruise on her side. Blunt force trauma. Fist sized.

“Who did that.”

She poked her head up from play fighting with Ghost. “Who did what?”

“That.” He pointed. Purple and blue.

She lifted the hem of her shirt to show him the rest. Spread half across her side, bigger than a fist. Or more than one fist. “Got it at work.”

“Sure.” He was not sure. What kind of work gave bruises like that?

She sighed and turned to him fully, but she was still sitting on the ground, half wrapped around Ghost. “I run a martial arts studio. Braavosi water dancing, Thenn-style boxing, Shadow wrestling. That sort of stuff. Bruises come with the territory. But we wear gear, pull our punches, keep people safe. Some do it for spiritual improvement. Some do it for self defense.” She rolled up and onto her feet in one, easy motion. “I could teach you some things. Nothing big. Just defensive moves. You know, how to block punches.” 

“I … I don't...”

“It could be useful,” she insisted, with that strange, calm voice she used sometimes, like he was dog who'd been spooked and needed gentle words. “I know fighting makes you uncomfortable, but being around it may help you get used to it. Robb and Rickon and I, we all play fight a lot. The dogs too, you know?” She pet Ghost slowly, ruffling at his ears. “It might be fun. I'll leave you my card, okay? You can just think about it.”

“Okay.”

*

A few days later, he picked up the card. Turned it in his hands once, twice. The studio wasn't far. He didn't even have to go in, he could just stand outside and watch. Or he could stay home and stare out the window for hours. He was getting tired of staring out windows. He'd rather stare _in_.

He left a note for Sansa.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys makes an appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have not read Part One: Those Who Favor Fire, some context might be helpful to appreciate this chapter! Dany surprised everyone by announcing she was declaring war on Pentos (without even consulting the rest of the ruling Council for Westeros), and Jon publicly disagreed with her. In private, she ordered him to never do that again, and that was the day Jon decided he would have to leave her. He spent the next month pretending to agree with her on everything while he got his ducks in a row.
> 
> So even though they never talked about it again, it would be clear to Dany in hindsight that this disagreement was important, even if she doesn't know entirely why.

He went to Arya's martial arts studio three more times that week, mostly after working in the little mailroom. Last night, he had met Arya's boyfriend Gendry Stormwaters, the friendly young man from Ser Davos's staff. For not being on the Council themselves, the Starks had significant connections. 

This morning, he had actually agreed to a small workout with Arya – no conflict, or anything. No punching. Just stretches and strength exercises. But it felt good to get his whole body moving, and Arya was patient. He never would have guessed, but she was a good teacher.

Sansa had gone on some errands with Lady right after he had gotten back. She has asked him if he wanted to join her, and he had turned her down, since he needed to take a shower. An hour later, he wished he had said yes anyway. Even with Ghost and Arya's studio and the mailroom job that Sansa's friend had gotten him, he got restless easily, like he should be doing more.

He huffed, rolled off the couch, and prepared Ghost for a walk. He was grabbing his keys when there was a knock on the door – Sansa had her keys, but maybe it was Arya? He clicked on Ghost's leash and opened the door for her.

Dany.

It was Dany. Or, um. Daenerys. 

Gods, she looked good. But that was nothing new. But she was alone, as far as he could tell – none of her staff was nearby, not even Missandei or Torgo Nudho or Jorah – and that was a bit odd. 

“Jon.”

“Daenerys.”

Something in her eyes broke at her full name. She didn't have to know he didn't think of that way, not really. She was still Dany to him. Maybe she always would be.

“I got your new address from your work.”

“She told you?” His lips felt numb. He had trusted Lyanna, and he shouldn't have.

“Oh, not exactly. Lady Lyanna Mormont has it saved in your file, and she and Jorah used to be close.” 

He wasn't sure that was much better. He should have been more careful. He was right to have not warned Lyanna that he was going to leave. Or perhaps it was just Jorah who could not be trusted. That made him feel a little better.

“I do apologize for dropping by without calling first. May I come in?” she asked, quite assured of herself and her courtesies.

_No_. She couldn't come in, he wouldn't let her. No closed doors, no closed spaces. Something open, public. _Redirect, redirect._

“Actually, I was on my way out. I'll join you here.” That was good. Smooth. Not too strong. He pulled Ghost out to the porch with them and closed the door a little too loudly. He sat in one chair and gestured for Dany to sit in the other. 

Every chair became a throne under Dany. Every person became a valued adviser. 

He clenched his jaw and waited for her to speak first. 

“I brought you some things.” He waited some more, and her smile fell slightly as she bent to pluck items from her purse. “I have a bottle of wine, gifted to my family by Lord Butterwell in 210. I want you to have it.” She passed it to him slowly. “I know you like Dornish sours.”

He ran a thumb along the label. This was the most expensive wine he had ever seen. And it was thoughtful. A perfect gift for an important anniversary. A bit too much for … whatever this was. An apology? An explanation? “I could not possibly accept this.”

“I want you to have it. And,” she ducked back down into her purse, “I have this too.” 

He tucked the bottle behind the chair leg and took the paper from her.

A summary of policies pushed through by a particular bill. Signed into law yesterday by all the Councilors, and Dany was credited with the introduction. The sorts of policies he had always campaigned for – better provisions for orphans, more funds for orphanages, increased support for single parent households, paid parental leave mandates to be rolled out over the next year.

Jon had always insisted the family was an essential unit to politics. Most people rolled their eyes and muttered darkly to each other about Jon's abandonment issues. 

But this sort of thing was important to him.

And Dany had noticed. Remembered. Cared.

Memories tugged at him – her softer smiles from grad school, her warm arms around his waist as he cooked dinner for them in their new condo, her hesitant happiness as she introduced him to her dragons. The quiet moments spent studying together, basking in the bright winds off the Narrow Sea. 

“The war.” Her voice was soft, pleading, her whole body leaning in close to him. “It's not worth ending things for. I just want you back. I _miss_ you.”

Shock pulsed through him. She really _had_ changed. “I never thought you would give this up,” he admitted. She cared about him, and she was sorry, and he missed her too, how could he not, they'd been together so long, and he'd left, but he still loved her.

“Well,” Dany grimaced delicately. “I thought we could postpone the war significantly, not disregard our goals entirely. Jon, we have to _do_ something.”

Something in him went cold.

She was never going to change. 

A part of him knew that, but a bigger part had been hoping she would, had been hoping she would show up and sweep him off his feet and bring him home.

But it was her home, her goals, her way. Always. It wasn't his home anymore. Maybe it never was.

“It's not enough,” he said quietly, pushing the paper back into her hands. His hands weren't shaking much. He stood and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. He could do this. “You're always going to put yourself first. And that's okay, it's your life, you can live it the way you want. But … I don't … want to be a _part_ of it anymore.” 

Her face rushed in, his cheek flashed and stung, and he was crying, of course he was crying, but the slap wasn't why, it hadn't been _that_ hard. He was crying because he thought was free, he thought he wouldn't have to do this anymore, but he did, he couldn't ever get out, he was stuck here in this moment, in this fire forever – 

There was a bark, and a growl, and what was wrong with Ghost, Ghost would _never_ act like that to Dany. 

But it wasn't Ghost, it was Lady. Lady stood at the porch steps, vicious and threatening. Defending him. 

And then Sansa was there too, a few steps behind her, holding Lady's unhooked leash. And she didn't look very happy, but it was fully directed at Dany. “I think it's time for you to leave.”

And Dany left. Lifted her purse and marched down the steps and left. 

Sansa herded the dogs into the house then guided him gently over the doorstop and positioned him on the couch, because he definitely wasn't moving on his own. When she brought him ice, he took the weight of it thoughtlessly.

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it.

Dany knew where he was, brought him wine, signed a new family-forward law, and … and lost her temper when she didn't get her way, just like always. She could be very considerate, as long as Jon was considerate first. Kept the condo clean, the fridge full, Ghost out of her way. She could be very kind as long as she wasn't stressed. And she was always stressed.

And he was always tired.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes time, learning how to move on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I've been feeling a little unmotivated with my writing recently :/ But never fear, this work will not be abandoned :)
> 
> Also! If anyone knows how to force AO3 to let you do any sort of tab equivalent, please let me know. There's a group chat section in this chapter, and I messed around with all the tab html options I know, but none worked, so I had to default to italics and bold for clarity, and I don't like the way it looks :(

Two days after Dany came by the house, Sansa asked if they could talk.

This was it. She was going to kick him out.

Jon had known it was a possibility; he had hoped to have moved out by now, but he had very little luck finding a new place to live, and now that Dany knew where he was, it was possible he was putting Sansa in danger now. Lyanna's mention of the Gold Cloaks zipped through his mind. 

“Jon?”

“Of course. We should talk.” He stood and moved to the dining room table with her, trying to keep down the despair. He didn't have time for it; he needed to be planning again. Every day spent in a hotel would drain or even deplete his future options for houses and careers. He sat and kept his gaze on the hard wood of the table.

“I went behind your back, and I am sorry for it. But I did not want to worry you over nothing.”

He looked up, confused. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Unfortunately, I now have confirmation, so we should discuss it.” 

“Discuss what?”

“Daenerys.”

He held back the flinch, but a grimace managed to scrape its way onto his face. 

“She's made contact with every realtor and landlord I've called so far, across the country, in what appears to be every major city.” Sansa slid over her phone, screen bright on a note of city names. Names of cities he'd considered living in. “No one I spoke to was willing to say so explicitly, but I was given the distinct impression that Daenerys has convinced them to reject your applications.”

Jon lost what little breath was in his lungs. “Bribes?”

“I haven't been able to confirm that,” Sansa admitted readily. “It could be bribes, or blackmail, or simply promises of return favors. That would be enough for some people. She's a powerful woman, and a powerful friend to have.” 

_Or a powerful enemy,_ Jon's mind supplied.

They both let that go unsaid.

“She wants me back,” he said instead, thinking of the wine. He had seen it on the porch yesterday; Dany had left it there, and so had Sansa. And so had he. 

“Is that what she said?”

They hadn't discussed it. But this was Sansa's home, and she deserved to know. 

“Yes. She said she was sorry and brought me gifts and asked me to come home.”

Sansa's face was clear and calm. “And what did you say?”

“I told her I didn't want that. And … then you showed up.” They both knew what happened after he told her no. No need for them to relive it.

“And now that you know you won't be able to find a new place?” she pressed.

“I guess I can stay in a hotel. I don't want to have to leave the country, if I can help it,” he admitted. If Dany was stopping him from buying here, he might have to migrate. Move somewhere far enough away that Dany's influence was minimal. The Winter Lands, maybe, or Sothoryos. Somewhere far outside her reach. 

“You can stay here, if you want,” Sansa offered gently. 

He considered. It was nice, living with Sansa. He didn't have much space to himself, but Ghost liked having Lady around. As much as he had loved his old job, having a new one he didn't care much about gave him a lot of extra time to try new things, like Sansa's tea or Arya's martial arts.

He imagined living alone, in a hotel, nothing to call his own. Ghost locked in a kennel again, either in the hotel proper, or in a boarding facility. It was a distasteful prospect.

“If you don't mind,” he decided.

“I don't mind.”

“Well, then, I would like to stay here. For the time being.”

Sansa smiled, and it was a strange thing, how much control she had over her emotions. Her lips were polite, as if she was simply giving the courtesy of a positive reaction; her blue eyes shone brightly with excitement, as if she had just heard amazing news.

As if she wanted to display joy but was concerned about how that would come across.

“So. Roommates?” He smiled as largely as he dared, and her smile grew some too.

“Roommates.”

*

They learned to get used to each other.

It was different, living together with no deadline in sight. Before, there was an understanding he could leave any day. Now, they knew he was here to – well, not to stay, but for a lot longer than they'd thought when he showed up with his bags.

Sometimes she would come home still annoyed from frustrating clients, and he would get nervous, watch her closely, just in case. They weren't dating, but that didn't have to mean anything. He had to be careful.

But she was in control of herself. She watched her tone, took quiet breaths when she needed to think about how to phrase something. Sometimes, she turned her face away from him.

He didn't know what her face looked like when she did that. 

But Sansa never raised her voice or slammed doors and threw things, and she was always very nice to Ghost, so that was good enough for him.

On the good nights, when her days went well and she still had energy, they would stoop over the bar and she would coach him on tea leaf combinations, and he would show her his ideas for flavors. The best ones were included in Sansa's notes. Some nights, they tried to read each other's tea leaves. Sansa always predicted good fortune and great happiness; Jon always squinted at the dregs for far too long, trying to really look into her future, see art in the debris.

*

Sometimes, he panicked, curled up into himself, lost himself to somewhere dark and quiet. Lost himself.

Sansa had to learn how to pull him back to himself, draw him back out into reality. She figured out which shows he liked to watch when he got quiet like that, and after a couple of hours of him being responsive again, she would always take him out to dinner.

She always gave him three choices, but insisted that he had to make the final decision. Sometimes the three choices would be random, ridiculous things, and sometimes it would just be three different places to get pizza, and he had to figure out which he actually liked better. That Senya's had the best breadsticks but The Low Square had better baked pasta. 

He wrote down his rankings in a little notebook, a light gray one that matched Sansa's blue notebook for her teas. 

It wasn't quite a journal, he didn't think. He didn't sit down at the end of every night and write about his day and what he wore and what he did. His life wasn't interesting enough for that; days could go by in a dull blur of delivered mail and lightly rumpled clothes and long runs with Ghost at twilight when it was chilly.

But sometimes, once or twice a week, he tried to make a few notes about his life. He had dates he had to keep – to visit Arya in her martial arts studio to work out, to call Sam and chat with him and Gilly – so he wrote those down too. He could just remember, of course, but after dashing out of Dany's condo, he thought it might be nice to actually own something besides work clothes and dog treats. 

Sansa encouraged him; she owned trinkets for her bookshelves and fake plants for her windows and little scraps of art for every wall, not to mention a wardrobe of delicate clothes to wear during the day and her fully stocked tea bar to soothe her in the evenings.

He didn't have anywhere real to live, so he couldn't fill the space with clutter, but he could keep the notebook, and buy extra workout clothes to wear at Arya's studio a few times a week, and that could be enough for him.

He could get used to this. He _had_ gotten used to this.

It almost felt like he had a _home._

*

At the beginning of a new week, Jon sat down with Sansa's laptop to prepare more applications, pulling up the document he'd created of apps to check in on, apps to do next … and then he remembered. This routine meant nothing now. No landlord would have him; no real estate agent would sell to him. He had money saved for a house, not for a bribe to outdo whatever Dany had done to blacklist him. 

He closed the laptop and huffed. Tapped his feet in irritation.

He opened the laptop, deleted the document, and reclosed it. He was spending money to file those applications, non-refundable “processing” fees. For people who had no intention of entering into a deal with him the second they saw his name. Jon Snow was a perfectly common name! What if there were other Jon Snows struggling to find room and board because of him?

Jon took a deep breath the way Arya taught her beginner classes to do, a long draw in through the nose, a short hold in the lungs, a much longer exhale concentrated and directed through the mouth. He repeated it a few times before he felt a little calmer.

It wasn't his fault. He didn't do this. Dany's actions were hers, and her own responsibility. Any imaginary Jon Snows weren't mad at him.

The only one suffering was him.

That was a bad road to go down.

He left the laptop on the table and went to the windowseat, whipping out his phone to send a mostly meaningless message to Sam. After waiting five whole seconds without getting a reply, he stretched to try and release the weird, jittery tension in his body. Then he messaged Robb and Theon. And Arya. And Gendry too, why not, he'd gotten his number a week ago, mostly for those days Arya decided to not carry around her phone. 

Not two minutes later, he received an invitation to a group message titled “The Pack Survives.” Its members were … all the Stark children except Sansa? That didn't seem fair.

“Why isn't Sansa in this?”

_“She used to be.”_

_**“Then she left. So we added her back...”** _

_“And then she left, and then we put her back...”_

_**“And then she left and told us if we ever put her back in this chat, she'd feed us to our own dogs.”** _

**“So we decided to leave her alone after that”**

“Fair enough.”

At least she wasn't being excluded or anything.

The chat dissolved into blaming everyone else for Sansa wanting to leave the chat, and then Arya pointed out that the fifty million messages a day when she already got so many messages from clients probably didn't help. Jon thought that was a good enough reason – Sansa loved her job, and she loved the field of marketing in general, but being badgered by people who couldn't decide what they wanted wasn't exactly a part of the glamour. 

**“So are you coming to dinner this time?”**

Arya asked him like he should know what she was talking about.

“What dinner?”

**“Stark family dinner, first of every month. Everyone comes”**

_“And she means everyone”_

_**“Yeah, so you've gotta come!”** _

“Yeah.”

“I think I will.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has dinner with the Starks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than normal, but it's not unruly, I don't think

He took one of those deep cleansing breaths Arya had taught him as they reached the front door, and Sansa glanced at him with a soft smile and even softer eyes. “You're going to be fine. They're all going to just love you.” She gave a quick rap on the door and then opened the door without waiting for a response. “Trust me,” she insisted, waving him in behind her as she hung up her jacket on one of the many coat hooks lining the front wall.

Jon followed her into her childhood home slowly. The interior matched the stately facade nicely – spacious rooms, tasteful decorations, and enough seats for a family of seven to spend time with each other and all their loved ones. 

The formal dining room looked like it was probably only used for these family dinners once a month, and Sansa led him straight past it, down a shallow ramp to a massive den filled with sprawling limbs. Arya had been right; they didn't know how to be around each other for two minutes without descending into a messy wrestling match.

It didn't bother him quite so much as it had before.

Sansa moved to the bar in the corner where her father stood, probably to say hello, but she hadn't asked him to come along, so he hung back and sat next to the only young man to stay away from the fray. He thought it was Bran, or at least he was _pretty_ sure the young man was Bran, since he recalled Rickon having lighter hair. After a quick glance, it was clear why the man had kept back – he had some sort of braces along his legs, had probably been banned so someone wouldn't hurt themselves on all the hard edges. 

“Hi. I'm Jon Snow.” He wasn't sure if introductions were necessary, but they couldn't hurt matters.

“I remember you. I'm Bran.”

Thank the gods, he'd guessed right. “Still go by Bran, then, huh?” That was a reasonable thing to say, wasn't it?

“Only here at home. Brandon sounds better at school.”

Jon nodded in what he hoped seemed understanding. It felt like it had been so long since he had had to engage in polite conversation; at home, he and Sansa were comfortable with each other, and at work, most people didn't bother. “What year are you?”

“I just started this fall. I had to take a couple years off because of,” Bran paused and tapped at his legs. “I'm hoping to study biomedical engineering.”

Jon nodded awkwardly at Bran's braces. “Is _that_ why?”

“Mostly. But I've always wanted to go into engineering. Math is more creative than people give it credit for.”

“So is wrestling!” Arya argued, popping to the top of the mound of fighters and declaring herself triumphant. It lasted for about two seconds before everyone collapsed into too-loud laughter.

“Alright, enough of that, everyone to the dining room,” Lord Stark called out over the chaos, and the mass detached itself into separate beings – Robb and Theon, Arya and Gendry, a young man who was almost certainly Rickon.

They all shuffled back up the ramp – Bran's legs made sense of that now – and Sansa appeared at his elbow. “Would you like to go say hello to everyone else?”

Everyone _else_? Who else was _left_?

He nodded and padded after her, curious. Her mother, he hadn't met her yet. But he thought he had seen the rest of the Stark children, and their partners.

But there were several people in the kitchen: a massive man heaving around cast iron, someone significantly smaller perched on a barstool with their head in a cookbook, and a woman whose coloring confirmed she was the Lady of the house. 

There was also Ser Davos, who had earned his lands and title more recently than most sitting Councilors. Jon had known Gendry was his primary aide, but he hadn't thought Gendry would be inviting his boss to a family dinner.

Then he thought of Lyanna; he would have invited her here, if he could have. 

“Lady Stark,” he said to announce himself, unable to stop himself from slightly bowing. “Ser Davos.”

“Jon Snow!” Ser Davos called, seeming happy to see him. “Didn't expect to see ya here.”

“Lady Sansa invited me,” he explained with a small smile.

Sansa rolled her eyes and huffed. “By the gods, Jon, do not call me _Lady_. That is my _dog's_ name.”

His smile grew. “I am aware of that, yes.”

The massive man who took up half the room snorted at that. “Aye, Sansa's just a little bird.” The man's smile only stretched across half his face; the rest was a ruin of melted skin and red blisters that looked as if they would never leave.

Jon wondered if the pain was horrendous.

Sansa glided forward, and he could see why the man called her a bird – she was like a little magpie, how she collected her teas and shiny things. “Sandor.” She greeted him with a kiss to the sad side of his face, and Sandor leaned into it, his arms still full of what looked like half an animal roast. Deer? 

Jon thought about rolling his eyes. The meat wasn't important, here. “Sandor _Clegane_?”

Something went hard in Sandor's eyes. “Aye.”

He had heard stories of this Sandor Clegane. They were only ever told in bad temper, but Jon had never agreed with the speaker on anything. Jon bit back a smile, but he doubted he did it well. “Cersei Lannister does not think highly of you.”

Sandor barked out a boom of a laugh. “The low opinion is mutual.”

Ser Davos chuckled to himself before turning back to the slight young woman with the cookbook. “You said lime juice and what else?”

“And ground red pepper.” She shone a bright smile to Jon, even across the room. Her face had a strange mottling he had seen at the Watch once. The boy had left shortly after, and they never learned what made his skin look that way. “Hello, Jon Snow. My name is Shireen Baratheon, I'm Rickon's girlfriend.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Shireen.” He gave her a returning smile and a nod before turning to watch Sansa pull her mother closer to Jon.

“Mother, this is Jon Snow. Jon, this is my mother Catelyn Stark.” 

Standing side by side, the resemblance was uncanny. Arya had the traditional Northern coloring and Stark features, but Sansa and the rest took after their mother entirely – copper hair, bluebell eyes, thin noses.

“Thank you for opening your home to me, Lady Catelyn.”  
“It is a pleasure to have you, Jon,” she assured him warmly. “We were so happy to hear you could come this month.”

Sansa had actually mentioned him? He supposed enough of the Starks knew of him by then. 

“Now, you two go on to the dining room, we're almost done in here,” Lady Catelyn ushered them out of the kitchen gently, and they moved back to the dining room. 

Jon half-expected there to be place cards, but he didn't notice any, so he let Sansa choose a seat one chair down from Arya, and he sat on her other side. After just a few more minutes, the kitchen crew filed in with the last of the serving dishes, Catelyn and Sansa and Robb gave a prayer to their gods, and then there was the strangest mix of courtesy and chaos. 

When he lived at the Watch, the boys had all struggled to get the best bits of food first, and those unwilling to fight were left with pieces no one else wanted, or sometimes nothing at all. When he lived with Daenerys, he had either eaten alone or eaten at formal functions with seven pieces of silverware and very stilted conversation.

To see the mad scramble for food interspersed with actual interest in each other's lives, to clamber into both easily with people making room for him to join, it was strange and beautiful, and it felt like eating chilled melon after spending a summer day out in the sun, perfect and forever. Even after everyone was done eating, they spent time sprawled along their chairs or their partners' shoulders, and they still somehow had things to talk about. 

Then Lady Catelyn stood and told everyone to move along to the living room so she could start cleaning up, and Jon offered to help her, gathering up people's plates and piling them in the larger serving dishes to carry them into the kitchen. Lots of the others marched in more dishes, and he simply waved at them to leave things everywhere; he could organize them once he knew what he was dealing with. Once the loads stopped coming, he stacked as best he could, and Lady Catelyn joined him over the sink to sort out which could be done by the machine and which would have to be washed by hand. 

“It is such a shame Meera could not make it tonight. Sweet girl,” Lady Catelyn said after a few moments of them working.

“Meera?” He didn't know any Meera, hadn't heard anything about her from Arya or Sansa. He passed over another plate.

“Meera Reed, she has dated Bran these last few years. I am quite hopeful for a marriage, but Bran is so serious about his studies.”

“It's important to find a balance,” Jon supplied. That seemed neutral enough. 

“Oh, of course. My Sansa has struggled to find that balance too. It is so pleasant to have all my children involved.”

_All? Arya with Gendry, Robb with Theon, S-_ “Oh, no! No, I'm sorry, it's not like that between Sansa and me.” It wasn't at _all._

“It is about time Sansa settles down with a nice boy like you. It warms my heart to see her with you, Jon. You are everything she has always wanted,” Lady Catelyn assured him.

_Everything she has always wanted._ He thought of all the dinners they had eaten together, of all the runs he had taken both Ghost and Lady out for when she had had a long day at work, of all teas they had carefully crafted. He … he hadn't _thought_ it was … but it _could_ … “She told you this?”

“Oh, she doesn't have to say it in so many words. I am her mother; I know these things.” Lady Catelyn patted his shoulder and then moved away from the sink for a moment. 

“Of course.” He didn't have a mother of his own. But he'd heard that mothers could know these things, and Sansa had always spoken highly of their relationship. Maybe Lady Catelyn knew something that he didn't.

She appeared at his shoulder and tapped at it again. “I think that should be enough for now; the boys can clean the rest later tonight.”

He nodded, drying his hands off and following her to the living room.

His eyes caught on Sansa, and it shouldn't have meant anything, because she was the one who brought him here and his ride home, his roommate and his friend. So of course he would look to her first, he felt more comfortable around her than the rest, even Arya, so it didn't have to mean anything.

But now it felt like it meant something.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon ... well, Jon broods like he always does.
> 
> ...And he does some other things that's he's used to doing

But it didn't have to mean something, did it? 

It had been three days since the big family dinner, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. Luckily, his job in the mail room didn't require much complex problem solving. It was mostly pattern recognition; he could do his job well and spend the time thinking of other things.

Maybe Sansa's mother was wrong. Sansa didn't seem like the kind of woman who would stand around wishing for something good to happen, not anymore, at least. She was direct, always communicated her feelings clearly. 

Unless it was him? He was technically camping out on her couch because he didn't have anywhere else to go. And after leaving a … bad relationship, it would make sense for her to give him extra space. Right? That was something people did. That seemed mature like Sansa. Giving him the space to make the first move when he wanted to.

If he wanted to?

Maybe he wanted to. He could want to. 

He _could_.

But did he want to? Sansa had told him how important it was to decide things based on what he wanted, not on what he thought others wanted. But he hadn't thought it, Lady Catelyn had, and she probably had better perspective on the whole thing. 

He sighed. This was going nowhere.

He focused on his work and let the rest blur away.

*

But it was weird, wasn't it? Sansa was like … like Sam, or Arya! They were friends, practically family! He'd even gone to her family dinner, for family!

But … well, Robb brought his husband, and Arya brought Gendry, and Rickon had invited that Shireen girl, and Meera couldn't make it for Bran, but apparently she'd been to other ones. They did seem neatly paired off...

But Ser Davos and Sandor were there, and they weren't dating anyone.

So it didn't mean anything. It didn't!

It didn't.

*

Margaery swung by the mail room at the end of the week, and the one other person in the room snapped to attention with a sharp “Ms Tyrell!” so he figured he should follow suit.

“Ms Tyrell.”

She was wearing a gleaming gown, with a clean silk jacket draped over her shoulders, all done up with green flowers that looked quite a bit like the magazine logo. How much had she paid to have that done? “Hey, Jon, real quick, do you wanna go out for drinks tonight with me and Sansa?”

“Sansa agreed to have drinks?”

Margaery admitted, “Well, she agreed to be the designated driver. So I need someone to actually drink with me! Please say you'll come.”

“Of course.”

Margaery beamed, and it was easy to see why no one ever had a bad thing to say about her. Everyone wanted to be her best friend. “Yay! See you tonight!” And then she blew him a kiss and breezed away.

That had seemed far more flirty than anything Sansa had ever done in his presence, and he was certain Margaery had no interest in him whatsoever.

All of this was confusing, and it was honestly starting to give him a headache.

Maybe he _did_ need a drink.

*

He'd forgotten how nice alcohol was, how it blurred all the edges in the room, made everything soft and warm like syrup. He'd basically stopped drinking at Dany's because he wanted his wits about him if she started swinging, and it was easier to get it up to keep her calm if he was sober, but now he didn't have to worry about _any_ of that, so he was gonna drink and be _all_ warm and happy and there was _nothing_ anyone could _do_ about it!

He nodded resolutely and took another shot with Margaery. She favored Tyroshi pear brandy, and it was _good_. He should have been drinking this for _years_.

Sansa pushed him more peanuts. He dropped the first one, but the second and the third opened just fine, and he smiled at her as he munched. Her eyes went all _soft_ when she laughed. Sansa had made a rule that he had to eat something as he drank, which _was_ fair, because he lived with her and roommates should have a say in each other's possible hangovers, _especially_ if those hangovers involved vomit. 

Yuck. He did _not_ want to vomit. 

He ate some more peanuts.

And then he did a couple more shots.

*

Walking? Walking was _hard_. But Sansa was there. And her arms were, so warm. And stronger than he'd thought. 

His feet were being _dumb_. 

But Sansa was smart. She was _so_ , so smart. And so _pretty_. He told her so. “You're so _pretty_.”

“So are you,” she said back, and she did not seem serious, and that was not very _nice_ of her. But she got him up the steps without falling, and that _was_ nice, so he decided to forgive her.

He tried to stop at the couch, but she kept _pushing_. “No, come on, to my room, you can take my bed tonight.”

“Bed?” But it was _her_ bed. He didn't _have_ a bed.

“Yep. I'll take the couch. I trust my balance more than yours right now.”

That was _not_ fair either. He had _excellent_ balance. He just, couldn't _find_ it right now. He mostly flopped on her bed, and then his feet got cold. Sansa just kinda _pushed_ him around to get him situated. “Stay.”

“I'll be here, don't worry.”

“Love you,” he told her. So pretty. So _nice_ to him. He could do this. He could, _totally_ do this.

“I love you too, Jon. Sleep now.” Her voice sounded weird. She leaned to tuck blanket near his head.

He pouted. “No, stay.” He shoved himself forward to kiss her. This was _totally_ working. He was a _great_ kisser. Dany always said so. But he wasn't with Dany now. He was with _Sansa_. And she was _nice_ to him.

She shoved him off. Bouncing back down on the bed hurt his head. Her hair bounced away, and she was saying Petyr but his name was Jon, and didn't she know that was rude?

He rolled his eyes, but that hurt his head too, so he burrowed into the blankets.

He'd deal with it in the morning.

*

His head was pounding, his feet were sore, and his mouth was dry and sour.

_Great._

He held a hand to his temple as he sat up slowly. He was in a bed, but the linens smelled like lemons and the room was decorated by a great lover of small, cute things, so this was just Sansa's room. Jon hadn't spent much time in it.

Gods, he hoped he hadn't kicked her out of her own bed. He thought he vaguely recalled Sansa telling him to take her bed? That seemed like the sort of polite thing Sansa would do. 

Now he had to do the polite thing and make sure to not throw up in her room. He shuffled as slowly as possible out of her room to the bathroom, where he rinsed his mouth about a dozen times and considered swallowing a whole tube of toothpaste. Thank the gods neither of them had work today; they could stay in and recover from the night before.

But when he made it out to the living room, Sansa was dressed for work and had a travel mug for her tea instead of drinking it slowly in her window seat like she normally did.

“Good morning, Jon,” she said, quietly enough not to grate on his too-sensitive ears. She'd even kept all the lights off for him. “I would like to talk to you tonight when I get home.”

“You don't normally have work today,” he mumbled in reminder, scrubbing at his face and trying to figure out if tea would make him feel better or much, much worse.

“Well, I do today. I'll see you tonight?”

He nodded. She nodded. She left.

It felt … wrong. Somehow. Like something important had shifted, and he felt nervous about it even though she wasn't home.

What had he done wrong?

*

He had to do something right, to make up for it. So he laundered all the linens and opened all the windows to let in fresh air, cleaned the kitchen, dusted the shelves and refreshed the few rugs Sansa owned. 

She had gone in on her day off, and stayed longer than she normally would. But he was ready when she got home, in the suit he normally saved for important dates, with a kettle simmering and a cup of tea leaves ready and waiting. Her favorite blend, as best as he could manage it. He poured the water when he heard her on the front steps; she would be able to recognize when the tea was ready. She took her time locking the front door, hanging up her belongings, petting Lady and Ghost.

He looked up to her and smiled hesitantly. “Welcome home.”

Sansa was frozen in the middle of the living room, half turned to the dining table. She looked like she was in _pain_. He stood in concern, but she just raised a hand and closed her eyes. Pain, she was in _pain_ , what had he _done_?

“I'm sorry!” he blurted out.

“Please sit, Jon.”

He sat back down, trying not to shake from his nerves, and after he had managed it, she sat across from him. He had quit both of his previous jobs, but he had the sudden surge of understanding that this was what being fired felt like. Two primly dressed people, separated by a table, no emotions to be shared, just very bad news.

“I have something I would like to say. And I recognize that it will be difficult for you to hear; it will not be easy for me to share, but I think it is important that we have this understanding.” Sansa's hands curled around the teacup he'd prepared for her, but she didn't take a drink. Steam curled up between them.

“Joffrey was my first love. He treated me horribly, and I let him.” Jon nodded; he remembered her telling him about Joffrey in that tea house, all those months ago. “All of my loved ones did their best to free me. But Petyr Baelish is the man who convinced me to leave. I thought that he wanted what was best for me, that he cared for me deeply, but he saw me as a prize. None of it was real.” She sighed, and she seemed years younger, eyes filled with a sorrow he didn't quite understand. “ _None_ of it. I did not love him, but I let him convince me that I should, that my love was what he was due, so I did my best to give him that.” Her eyes met his, and they were _her_ eyes again. “Do you understand, Jon?”

He didn't. She was trying to tell him something, something important, about her and this Baelish, but all he could think about was that she hadn't tried the tea. She should have tried the tea. Had she even seen how much he had cleaned? He'd sanitized all the handles, everyone always forgot to do that when they cleaned.

“These … feelings you have for me. I understand how real they may feel right now, but I know from experience that they are not. I thought I had fallen in love with Petyr, but I was simply grateful to be free from my abuser. I think the same thing is happening here. I think you are grateful to me for helping you as you left Daenerys, and for supporting you afterwards, and now you _think_ you are in love with me.”

“But-”

“And maybe you are, Jon,” she continued, a little rushed. “Maybe this really is genuine for you. But I hope you understand that I would never be comfortable with that sort of relationship with you. I won't be your Petyr. I can't take that chance, Jon, I _can't_ ,” she choked off.

He reached out to her, she couldn't just, but she shoved the tea at him and tore her hands off the table. 

He found his voice, somewhere far away. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying … I think you should move out.”

His ears were ringing. Why were they ringing?

“I've asked your friend Sam. They said they'd love to have you visit. Little Jon thinks the world of you.”

He nodded blankly. “Of course. I'll go.”

“Thank you for being understanding. I do hope we can remain friends. But I think some distance will help us both a great deal.”

“Of course. Some distance.” He stood, steadied himself against the table, moved to the closet where he kept his bags. He packed in a daze, held Ghost close as he hooked leash to collar, and left Sansa's spare key on the entry table. 

He didn't say goodbye. He … couldn't.

He just left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 8.22.2019: Hey guys!! So, the latest Windows update wiped my computer, and I won’t have access to well, anything for ... who knows how long 🙃 I’m going to try to wait it out, but if this isn’t fixed in a week, I will just rewrite the last few chapters and start posting again
> 
> I’m ... super upset about this, tbh


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon talks things out with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my old files for this story were lost. So I've got what I'd already posted to AO3, plus my original notes, to work from. And since I've drastically changed the plot from what I planned back in May ... well, I'm doing my best. 
> 
> (This is an excellent time to remind anyone in school that ALL of your school files need to be backed up on a cloud. Or several, if you want to take advantage of all those free versions out there. Don't ever be that student that loses an important paper when your computer crashes, okay? Back up your files!)

Jon woke uneasily and far too early for his liking. If he could, he'd stay asleep all day. But he couldn't, so he rolled straight off the tiny bed onto the ground, stretched as far as he could, and then stumbled into a standing position. 

The Tarlys' home was sufficient to their needs, and not well equipped to have longterm house guests. Sam's tiny study had a poorly stuffed couch with a hideaway bed, and there was just enough space in the study to unfold it half of the way, which was just enough space to sleep on. Poor Ghost slept curled up in the doorway. There wasn't enough room to breathe, for either of them.

But the boys loved having a dog to play with, and baby Rhaenys cooed over him constantly. And they'd taken to Jon easily as well, pulling him into their games of pretend, playing at knights and wizards. Sam and Gilly got to take some extra time to themselves, do a few less chores, relax. So Jon watched the kids and weeded the garden and did all the dishes.

And if he missed Sansa and Lady and the house with shining things on the walls, well, that was his business.

He was doing dishes at the end of the night after two whole weeks sleeping in Sam's study when Sam came up to him and started drying the kids' dishes and putting them in the lower cabinets. Jon held his breath and kept going. The last time someone had started a conversation with him while doing dishes together, he'd gotten the worst advice of his life. This couldn't be any worse.

“We should talk,” Sam told him.

Jon nodded. He hoped he wasn't going to be kicked out, but it was reasonable. The Tarlys had never planned for an old orphan friend to move in, especially with three kids in the house. He could move to the Winter Lands, or Sothoryos, start a new life, get a job washing dishes in a restaurant somewhere.

He passed over a plate decorated with that Florian character from the cartoons. Maybe could be a nanny. He was good with kids. He used to help out at the Watch, looking after the little ones. Recent orphans were often meaner than the rest, tried to pick on the others to ease their own suffering. Jon had been an orphan all his life; he'd been used to it. 

He was worryingly good at being alone.

“Did I ever tell you how Gilly and I met?”

Jon shook his head. It had been after he'd moved South for university, and it hadn't come up since they'd reconnected. 

“I was studying for my degree in education, and I was a tutor at a night school for high school equivalencies. Gilly was one of the students. And we spent a lot of time together, but I maintained a professional distance.”

“Which means you thought she was so cute you could barely speak.”

Sam blushed and shrugged. “She was cute. And sweet, and bright, and so passionate about learning new things. I liked her, a lot. And she liked me. I told her it wouldn't be appropriate. She was persistent, but not pushy. She respected my refusals. But she always let me know she was available, too.” Sam gave him a significant glance that Jon pretended not to see. “Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”

“Not really,” Jon admitted, draining the sink and scrubbing at the edges.

“Gilly is the most important person in my life. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. But we never would have happened if she hadn't been honest about how she felt and what she wanted. If you want to be with Sansa, you need to stand up for yourself and your feelings.”

If he wanted to be with Sansa. He wanted to live with her. He wanted to grab pasta together and walk their dogs together and make strange tea blends together. 

“I'm not sure I do, though,” he said softly.

Sam just seemed confused.

“At the family dinner, her mother, Lady Catelyn, she said-”

Sam's eyes were wide and horrified. “Did she threaten you? You need to tell Sansa-”

“No! No, nothing like that,” he reassured him. “But, she said, you know, that she thought we were a good couple. She said that Sansa wanted to be a couple. And well, I wanted her to be happy.”

“Then tell her that.”

Jon sighed and wiped his hands dry. “You're right. I'll call her tomorrow.”

Sam patted him on the back and went down to the room he shared with Gilly and baby Rhaenys. 

Jon took care of all the lights, went into Sam's study, and curled up on the ground behind Sam's desk with Ghost. “What do you think, boy? Should I call her?”

Ghost huffed out a stuttering breath. 

Jon decided that meant Ghost wasn't convinced. “Fine,” he pretended to compromise. “I'll text her first.” He squirmed a hand down to his pocket to fish out his phone. 

“Hey.”

**“Hey.”**

“There's something I'd like to talk to you about. Are you free tomorrow?”

**“Sure. 4:30?”**

“That works. Tyroshi Tea Room?”

**“I'll be there.”**

“See you then.”

Jon slid his phone over to the hideaway. He'd move later. For now, he wanted to spend some time with Ghost and think about what he had to say. 

Gods, what was he going to _say?_


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Jon and Sansa to talk things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this chapter are exactly as I wrote it the first time, and some ... some of it really got away from me. It's not too long, I hope!
> 
> Some of this chapter refers to earlier parts of the series, so to give some context for those who need it - Dany started a trade embargo with Pentos in part one, which was wildly unpopular on both sides of the Narrow Sea; part two began with Jon and Sansa meeting in a tea room to discuss their abusive relationships, past or present, and that was their first real contact since they were kids. Like I've tagged, I think this story is fully capable of standing on its own, but the series is pretty tightly knit, time-wise.

They were back at the beginning.

Same tea room, same time of day, though being this close to winter made the lighting quite different. Not as stark a difference as it would have been up north at the Watch, but obvious enough that it was hard to ignore.

It seemed like years since he'd run into Sansa on the street and agreed to meet her here to talk about Baratheon and Baelish … and even Dany. Only this time, he'd shown up early to save a spot for them, and he'd gotten a “Pentoshi-inspired” spiced black tea to drink that tasted suspiciously like genuine Pentoshi spices; maybe Dany's trade embargo wasn't as successful as she had hoped. 

There was a clink of porcelain on hard wood, and Sansa stood before him, fingers pale and nervous on the teacup and saucer. Had she chosen the floral white and added lemon?

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, and his eyes flickered to the chair she stood behind. Her eyes caught the motion, and she sat quietly. Arya could have done it even more quietly, and that was a strange thing to know. 

“Of course.” It sounded like she meant it, like she knew she would come before he asked. She still trusted him, at least a little.

“First,” he took a deep breath, barely daring to look at her directly, “I wanted to apologize for how I behaved. I know how uncomfortable you are around alcohol, and I chose to drink too much. I made you feel unsafe in your own home, and I'm sorry.”

Her eyes went soft and wet. “Apology accepted.”

“I'd like to provide some context for some of my actions that night, if that's alright with you.” He held his breath while she decided. He was pretty sure she would let him explain, but he had decided on the bus ride down that if she said no, he would thank her and leave. But he really hoped she would say yes.

“Okay,” she said, and he sighed in relief, but her guard was up again. That was … fair. 

“Thank you. Our entire relationship has been very important to me. Yes, in part because of your advice and support. But I came to think of you as my best friend, and I care about you a great deal.” That part was easy. It was the sort of thing he would have said before the fight. The rest was … difficult. But Sansa cared about communication, so he needed to put in the effort. “I do not mean any offense, but it was purely platonic for me. I didn't think of you that way. But … we had gone to the Stark family dinner earlier that week, remember?” She nodded, but her brow was low, like she didn't understand why the two ideas were connected. “And, while I was there, your mother Lady Catelyn congratulated me on our relationship.”

Sansa huffed, relaxing into her seat. This, at least, she knew. “I _told_ her it wasn't like that.”

“So did I. But she said it would be. That you wanted it to be. That she was your mother-”

“-And she knows these things,” Sansa finished easily, rolling her eyes. She looked just as she did when a client was being difficult. “She always says that; she likes to forget I've aged past fourteen. And besides, I'm perfectly happy being on my own right now.”

“And I know that, intellectually. I'm happy to be on my own, too. But ...” he sighed and tried to convince his stomach to settle. He took a sip of his tea. It didn't really help. “I still believed her. It seemed … reasonable. For you to want that. And I wanted that for you, to make you happy. You've done so much for me, I just wanted you to be happy with me.”

“But don't you see?” She leaned in over the table, pink rushing to her cheeks. “That's _exactly_ what I was afraid of, Jon. I can't trust you if you're going to prioritize that. I thought I loved Petyr, but I didn't. I was grateful, and terrified, and I made a lot of bad decisions because I felt trapped. And you are more trapped than I ever was, because Dany has the power to stop you from moving on. So … I know it may feel like being with me gets you a measure of control over your life, but I can't be with you that way. I can't be your Baelish, I won't.”

He held up his hands to stop her. “I'm not asking you to be.”

She sat back, face hard. “You were.”

“Well, I'm not anymore. And I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. I know you're not Baelish, you're not the least bit like him.” He hadn't met the man, but he didn't need to. Sansa was nothing like the men who had abused her. He shouldn't have put her in that position. He really shouldn't have. “You're a good person, and you've only ever been good to me, and I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

“Thank you.” She took a long drink from her tea, and he let the silence fall as she looked off to the floor. “I'll talk to my mother, try to help her understand.”

“I don't want you to go to any trouble,” he started to protest.

“No,” she interrupted. “What do you want, Jon? Don't think about what I may want, or what anyone else wants from you, what do _you_ want? For yourself?”

That was easy. “I want to move back in. I miss you. And Lady, and the house, and all the tea. I _miss_ you.”

She was quiet for a long time, her eyes on his. Looking for something. “I miss you too,” she admitted with a small smile.

He held his breath and tried to bite back a hopeful smile. “So can I move back in?”

Her smile grew large. “Yes.”

His grin must have looked ridiculous, but he didn't care one bit. She was going to let him come back. He hadn't ruined everything.

“I'd like to do this right, this time.”

… He had no idea what that meant. Paperwork? “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we've spent all this time thinking of it as my house, and that was okay when we thought you'd be moving out soon, but it's yours too. I shouldn't have the power to kick you out. That's not fair. We split the rent, so we should split the house too.” She was blushing again, why was she blushing? “And I think we should split the bedroom too. Nothing romantic, you understand-”

“I understand,” he agreed quickly.

“But the bed. And I've got an extra nightstand. And you could have half the closet.”

“I don't need half the closet,” Jon argued. “I have exactly three things that should be hung up, that's it.”

Sansa huffed past her smirk. “Fine, then you can have the space necessary for your three items, instead of hanging them in the coat closet.”

“Deal.”

She took a sip of her tea and grew serious again. “Do you understand what I mean, though, Jon?”

“Why does everyone ask me that?” he responded without thinking.

“Who else asks you that?” she wondered.

“You,” he said, and he tried to keep the accusation from his voice. “Sam.” He thought some more. “Arya.”

Sansa's face crinkled in a strangely fond way. “So, people who know you have a tendency to read the worst into innocent remarks?”

“I don't!” He stopped and considered. “Do I?”

“Yes, Jon. I'm afraid so.”

He thought about it some more. Sam asked him when he wasn't responding the way Sam had expected. Sansa asked … fairly often. Arya only asked him after she had stared at his eyes for long enough to be uncomfortable. 

He shook his head. “So we'll be ...”

“Equals,” she supplied. “We'll be equals.”

He nodded slowly, rolling the word around his mouth. “Can Ghost sleep with us?”

“Of course,” she agreed at once. “Lady sleeps in the room with me, but I used to have her up in bed with me to make me feel safer. She'll probably demand it for a bit while she gets used to everything.”

Jon understood that. He remembered the day Dany came by, and Lady growled at her, not the least bit lady-like. He had already liked Lady by then, but he loved her even more afterwards. “I'm okay with that. With being equals.”

“Then that's what we'll be.”

*

Sansa borrowed Arya's truck so they could get Ghost and his few belongings from the Tarlys. He said goodbye to most of them easily enough, even though he would miss them, but Sam hugged him tight on the front step and then held him an arm's length away and looked him in the eye and said, “You take care of yourself, okay?”

Sam looked so much like a father in that moment, it took Jon's breath away. And if there were tears in his eyes, they said nothing of it.

It was odd, seeing Sansa drive. Especially a truck that was so clearly Arya's. A tool kit rattled under his seat, and boxing gloves nestled his feet. A knife was tucked into the space next to Sansa's seat, and Jon wasn't sure he wanted to know the contents of the glovebox. 

But Sansa drove, the sunset behind her lighting up her hair as it flurried and her hands as they tapped against the steering wheel. Jon dozed off and on, and when they finally got home, he dumped his things in the living room and all but collapsed onto San- onto their bed. 

A single pat communicated to Ghost he was allowed. Lady emitted the shortest whine he'd ever heard from a begging dog, and then Sansa was letting her up too, shutting off the lights and climbing in after everyone.

After she'd offered earlier that afternoon, he'd thought it would be awkward. The last time he'd been in this room, he'd wrecked everything. But it wasn't. There wasn't room for it to be awkward, not with two large dogs between them, huffing in happiness. The night was dark and safe and warm.

He drifted to sleep like it was the easiest thing in the world.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes some amends and makes big plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers a lot of time, because most of this time period I thought would be too boring to be drawn out, lol. After this, we have one more chapter and then an epilogue! Can you believe it? 
> 
> Enjoy!

Back in the home he and Sansa shared, Jon had to put his life back together.

Margaery actually had saved his job for him, so he went right back to work in the mail room. She said no strange remarks, gave him no significant looks. She just gave him the work schedule and floated away.

A few days later, he barely stepped onto the mat in Arya's studio and then he was pinned by Arya, dark eyes sending daggers. “You didn't say goodbye.”

“I should have said something, and I didn't. And I'm sorry.” 

Her jaw twitched. “Apology accepted.” Then she leapt up and gave him a hand to his feet, like nothing had happened. 

“Do all the Starks say that, or what?”

“Say what?”

“Apology accepted,” he explained. “Instead of it's okay or thank you or anything.”

Arya shrugged then rolled her shoulders back. “It's a Sansa thing. We try to make it clear for her when everything's okay again. No grudges, you know? Nothing hanging over your head.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, Sansa said it too, so I thought.” He trailed off and shrugged. 

“If Sansa said it, then she meant it. You're good again. Sansa doesn't lie.” Her gaze was heavy, like she wanted to see him believe her.

“And you do?” he had to ask.

Energy seeped out of her body. “I used to.”

If this was out of line, she'd just pin him again. “Why'd you stop?”

She gave a strange smile, nostalgic and … proud? “It just wasn't me.”

He got on the Stark group chat that night and explained that he was back, and that he was sorry. And sure enough, all the Stark boys said, “Apology accepted” and Theon said, “It's okay man, we get it.” Robb was just happy to have him back. Maybe they all were.

And things went back to normal. He ate out with Sansa, and he was better about deciding what he was in the mood for, and after pasta one night, she cleared their dishes and informed him their lease was reaching renewal soon.

“Okay?” He was missing something, he could tell.

She loaded the dishwasher and wiped off the countertops. She'd noticed he went for the kitchen chores first, and she'd started doing them first. It wasn't quite a contest, he thought, more of a running tease. “I was wondering if you might like to move to a bigger place.” 

“I like it here,” he answered easily.

“But would like a different place more?” she pressed, passing by him to hang up the dishtowel. 

He huffed out a sad laugh. “What I would _like_ is to move into my own place. Be independent for the first time in my life. But it's impossible, because Dany's too powerful to stand up to, so there's not much point in talking about it.”

She got a strange glint in her eye. “I know someone powerful enough.”

“Who?”

*

Her family. Her family was powerful enough, and now that he'd mended things with Sansa, they were more than willing to help him out. It took them a few weeks to find a good place for him, another couple weeks for Robb to go through the lease with a finetooth comb to make sure he was well protected, and then a few after that for Catelyn and Rickon to help him pick out all the furnishings and trappings for his new place. They bought them up as soon as possible, added pictures and plans for them to Bran's growing binder, and then put them in a small storage unit outside of the city until the moving day arrived a month later.

But it was time. Jon drove the first moving van, and Ned the second. The rest of the Starks were in various vehicles meeting them at Jon's new house in Brindlewood, along with the Tarlys. 

Jon parked the van along the street and strolled up to the little Tarly boys perched on the shoulders of a massive redheaded man he'd never met. “Hello, Sam, Jon.”

“Uncle Jon!” the boys cheered.

“Uncle Jon, this is Coach Tormin!” Sam supplied.

“Nice to meet you, Tormin,” Jon nodded at him instead of offering an hand, not wanting to unsettle the boys.

The man laughed and corrected, “It's Tormund, actually. I work with Sam up at The Gift, teaching gym.”

“Well, thanks for coming down, I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Tormund replies, popping the little boys off his shoulders against their protests and bringing up a cooler from Jon assumed was his truck. “Water and beer for everyone. Water first, of course.”

“Of course,” Jon agreed with a fake stern expression before stepping away. He took the three steps up to the porch, the two steps forward to the front door. Played with the shiny key he'd been given earlier that morning. This was it, this was home, this was -

Arya barreled into him. “Come on, let's get a move on.”

He laughed and unlocked the door. Arya stepped in first, and he followed. 

It was a good space. Good windows, good lighting. Nice kitchen, with one cabinet off to the side just waiting for a sampling of Sansa's tea collection. Small hallway with a closet, the bathroom, the door to his bedroom. The yard had a chainlink fence, nothing special, but it was big enough to keep Ghost happy. The front steps would be a problem for Bran if he visited often, but he could probably find a removable ramp somewhere.

And there was Bran now, Meera providing support up, Rickon following with a chair for Bran to set up in. 

Bran was the brains behind the day, and Rickon was his right hand. And with so many people there – the Starks, the Tarlys, Tormund and Sandor and Gendry – things came together quickly. Before he knew it, his new home was set up just the way he and Rickon had imagined. 

The Tarlys left first, for their kids' sakes. Tormund and Sandor were next, but the giants had agreed to meet at Arya's studio and spar the next week. 

After that, they all relaxed in the living room, sprawled out or piled up, having half a dozen conversations at once. Theon invited him to their monthly game night; Bran asked him to look over a paper for school; Arya discussed bus schedules and studio visits. He signed up for Braavosi water dancing classes with her and almost convinced Sansa to join them.

“I know you were busy last month, but you're expected at the next family dinner, Jon,” Catelyn informed him from across the room.

“Wouldn't miss it,” he assured her. “But I do think I'm going to turn in for the night, I'm exhausted.” He turned to Sansa and kissed her on the cheek before standing up and brushing himself off. “Lock up for me?”

“Of course, get some rest.”

Ghost was at his heel quickly, trotting down the short hall to his bedroom. Thank the gods, someone had thought to make the bed earlier; he simply didn't have the energy anymore. He collapsed into the bed – _his_ bed, in _his_ house, with his family just out _there_ in the living room.

He took a deep breath in, held it with a smile. This was his life now.

*

Margaery poked her head into the mail room. “Jon, dear, might I walk with you for a moment?”

He really hoped he wasn't being fired. He really did not want to look for a job right now. “Of course.”

She wrapped her arms around his right and led him to the elevator up to her office. They got a few dirty glances for him being a lowly mail clerk walking with the chief editor. “You've been here a while now, haven't you?”

“Half a year,” he responded as lightly as he could. 

“And how's the commute? Not too bad, I hope?” 

“Not at all,” he said. “Arya and I catch the bus down together most days, and it gives me time to think.”

She gestured him into her office and closed the door behind them both. “I have a position opening that I think you might be interested in.”

So … he wasn't being fired. That was good. He cleared his throat. “What position?”

“Executive assistant to the editor-in-chief.” She smiled brightly and waved. “My current assistant Alysanne will be going on maternity leave in a few weeks, for at least two years, maybe more. If she decides to stay at home, you can keep the position, and if she returns, we can find a similar position for you somewhere else in the organization. Or elsewhere in King's Landing, the Tyrells open doors.”

That much was true, he had seen it. “I don't have that sort of experience,” he mentioned.

“Being an assistant here isn't all that different from being the primary aide to Lady Lyanna Mormont, I believe you'll find. Handling schedules, returning phonecalls, sending out letters. Admittedly, the information shared here will not directly shape the good of our society, but it's good work.” She slid a file over to him and gestured that he should peruse the contents. “Nice pay,” she continued, “Hefty benefits package, and any overtime is paid twice over and only scheduled with your express consent. Does this sound like something you'd be interested in?”

He considered it. He missed Lyanna, but he also missed the work. The scheduling and the rushing around, the feeling of being a part of something bigger than himself. He'd have to have Robb help him look over the forms later tonight.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to explain something that vaguely looks like a plothole, because Jon's not always privy to Stark innerworkings - yes, Sansa's solution to ask her family for help does seem sort of obvious to us, like why didn't we just do this from the start? But Sansa's been taken advantage before, and doesn't always have the best judgment of men. I think it makes sense that the Starks would want to vet for themselves a man asking Sansa for extravagant help like this; they wouldn't put their money and reputation on the line for a scam artist, you know? 
> 
> But they've all met Jon and gotten used to him, so _now_ I think the Starks would be willing to pull these strings. I don't think they would have been willing at the beginning of this fic. So it's an obvious solution, but the timing has to be right.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's life is the best it's ever been!
> 
> But there's one loose end ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this story has often been the subject of ... non-constructive criticism, shall we say ... I would like to state for the record that this chapter has been planned from the very beginning.

Jon looked up from his desk when the elevator opened, his prepared smile plastered on his face, then let it fall when he saw it was only Sansa. “It's Wednesday, what are you doing here?” They normally ate lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays – tonight was his class with Arya, and this weekend the three of them were going rowing around the God's Eye. 

“I got a letter for you, and I wanted to run it by right away.” She held it out to him with a strange air of caution.

He understood why a moment later. It was Dany's handwriting. Not even Missandei's, who normally wrote things for her, but Dany's own careful hand. A strong cursive of his name and Sansa's address, with the old condo for the return.

“Would you.” He choked and cleared his throat. “Would you sit here with me while I read it?”

“Of course.” 

She pulled the spare chair over to his and rubbed a hand across his back. His hands only trembled a little as he sought out Margaery's gold letter opener, adorned with the Stronger rose. It was unwieldy, honestly. That was why his hands were shaking. Because the weight was so uneven.

He tore open the envelope. It held a single sheet of paper, covered with Dany's thick penmanship. 

“She wants to talk.”

“What do you want to do?” Sansa asked quietly. 

He placed the letter back into the envelope and turned to look at her. “I think I want to talk too.”

*

He called Dany later that night, set up a meeting for that weekend. He chose a coffeeshop near the Red Keep for the meeting, where he'd gotten his morning coffee for the last year he'd been with Dany. 

He hadn't told her he'd asked Robb to come and sit at a table nearby. Just in case. Dany would recognize Sansa or Theon, and he didn't trust Arya to keep a clear head. But Robb would stay calm, he hoped.

He very pointedly refused to look at Robb though. He could do this on his own. He _could_.

Jon saw the moment Dany walked in and quickly crushed the alarming urge to jump to his feet. He gave her a gentle nod as she spotted him instead.

And then … she nodded back, and gestured to the bar with a question clear on her face, and he waved her ahead, and she nodded and moved to go order. She'd … actually asked him if it was okay to do something. And waited for an answer. 

He checked to make sure she wasn't looking than spared a quick glance at Robb, who didn't appear to understand how odd this all was. He just sent an encouraging smile. 

Jon took a deep breath. Maybe Dany was just in a good mood today. Or on her best behavior in public; she had always been more considerate in public. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” she began.

“Thank you for asking this time,” he returned, and maybe his voice was a bit colder than necessary, but he could forgive himself for that.

“I apologize for how I behaved the last time we saw each other. My actions were inexcusable. I was focused on my feelings and completely disregarded yours. You were right; we could not properly function as a partnership as long as I insisted on those priorities.”

He wanted to believe her. He certainly believed parts. “And what of your priorities now?”

“They've changed. I've changed. I had to. How I was behaving, that wasn't sustainable. I care about helping people, but I recognize now that I can't help anyone if I'm always one bad day away from falling apart.”

“Does that mean you take days off now?” he asked, only half-joking.

“Twice a week. And I sleep in, and everything,” she boasted lightly.

He could hardly believe it. Dany rose before the dawn, always. As a grad student, when everyone else had struggled to be in bed by four, she woke at that time to train for marathons or volunteer at a shelter or sketch out legislation she hoped to introduce when she joined the Council. He ventured, “Six o'clock?”

“Seven.”

They shared a smile. It wasn't as it used to be, between them. He couldn't feel the love from the glint in her eyes anymore, but he didn't feel the fear when light shone off her teeth or made her skin seem translucent either. 

Would it feel like this, if he saw old friends from university? A wealth of memories both good and bad, but no more emotional attachment?

“You look well.”

“So do you,” he returned. And it was true. She had always looked good, but it had been a long time since she had looked _well_. Healthy. Happy, instead of merely satisfied.

She actually smoothed her hands down her dress; she was nervous. “Thank you. I hope life has been treating you well?”

“Yes, very, thank you.” He was not going to offer any information beyond that.

“I must confess,” she paused. “When you first left, I made a considerable effort to force you to come back to me.”

“With my applications.”

She blinked in shock. “You knew?”

“...I was informed.”

“By Sansa?” He refused to respond. She flinched. “I am terribly sorry. That is unimportant. My actions were childish and cruel, and if I could take them back, I would. I was so afraid of losing you that I did not accept I already had.”

Yes. She had. And he had lost her, even before that. “We lost each other a long time ago.”

“Yes,” she agreed uneasily. “I fear you may be right.”

“You seem … I mean no offense, but you don't speak the same way you used to.”

Her lips gave a strange quirk. “You pick it up after a while. I go to therapy,” she admitted, and she didn't seem as embarrassed by that as he would have expected. But a great deal had changed, for the both of them, it seemed. “One of my days off every week. After I … visited you, I started going to anger management exercises.”

He blinked. And then he blinked again. “Was that Jorah Mormont's doing?”

“It was Torgo Nudho, actually. He suggested it might be beneficial to practice new skills in a group setting.”

“Wait, so you go to _group_ therapy?” Dany? Being vulnerable, where people could see? He couldn't believe it.

“Is that so shocking?”

Apparently, she could still read his expressions well enough. “Come on, Dany,” he defended himself. “You're one of the most independent people I've ever met! You always stand alone.” _And stand above,_ that sad voice in his head tacked on. In confidence or cruelty, she stood above the rest. He'd loved her for it; the hate had come later.

“Not anymore. Relying on others helps,” she told him. “Having people that I feel safe enough to rely on helps even more.”

“That's good. I'm happy for you, Dany.”

“I know you are. You're a good man.”

He didn't reciprocate. Maybe she was a good woman now, he didn't know. But he didn't feel comfortable enough to say it without thinking. 

“Thank you,” he said instead. 

“The way I treated you. Before Sansa's. Just. In general. I'm sorry.”

Maybe it was mean. Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was unhealthy and he'd have to call Arya and have her bring Nymeria to his place so he could feel safe enough to sleep tonight, but he wanted to hear her say it. He had to hear her _say it_. 

“Sorry for what?”

“For all the times I yelled,” she admitted readily. “And threw things, and hit you, and blamed you for everything. And.” Her eyes were still low, but they skirted around like she was afraid others would be listening. Her voice dropped even lower. “And for all the times I … put my desires over yours.”

She didn't have to say the rest. He remembered. He remembered it all. 

The Stark words were on his tongue – apology accepted. But did he really feel that way? Arya had made the parameters clear; he should only say them if everything was okay again. No grudges. Nothing hanging over anyone's heads.

He thought maybe this would always hang over his head. Maybe there would always be shadows over his life. 

But maybe he could move on. Away from Dany.

“Thank you for your apology,” he said instead.

“I miss you … I was wondering if you might like to try again?”

This was the moment. He had known it was a possibility, that she would ask. He had already known he would say no, but he hadn't expected her to ask kindly. “Thank you for asking. And I'm happy you're changing for the better. But I don't have those feelings for you anymore, and after everything we've been through, I would not feel comfortable trying again. I think we both need to move on.”

“Thank you for being honest. And thank you again for meeting me today,” she slipped out of her chair and smoothed down her skirt. She paused for only a moment, then held out her hand to shake his. Like it was the end of a business meeting, instead of an official farewell. The final closure to the most important relationship he'd even been in, a relationship that had lasted almost seven years. It was time to move on.

He stood and shook her hand. 

They let the moment stretch out for too long. He had once welcomed her touch, desired and feared it in equal measure. It meant … very little to him now. 

He let his hand drop. 

Dany nodded and moved to the door. She stopped, and started to turn back to him, so he pivoted quickly and strode over to Robb's table. He sat down with the release of days of tension, of years of sorrow and pain. 

He did not watch her leave.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets his happy ending!

He twisted around Rickon bouncing through the kitchen, past Sandor at the stove, and finally delivered the chives and rosemary to Meera where she sat at the bar. She tossed them into the bowl and whipped the herbs into softened butter with efficiency. Then she passed them back to Jon, who rolled small pieces into balls and placed them on a platter. 

She and Jon were the newest members of the Stark family, so they were still testing out their strengths for helping at family dinners. Catelyn had banned Jon from helping out with dishes for at least a year after that first disaster, so he had to learn how to help in other ways. 

It was utter chaos at the table, everyone talking over each other, Jon giving a heated defense of his water dancing skills to everyone who might have been foolish enough to believe Arya's slander, Theon complaining about an Umber who insisted bullying was a necessary part of early education, Gendry and Ned clearly plotting something in hushed tones, a dinner roll that Sandor evidently decided would be easier to throw at Bran rather than pass down the basket. 

If anyone had told him a year ago that this was possible, he would have rolled his eyes and gone for a run with Ghost. But here he was, surrounded by family and noise and love, and his dog was one of many sprawling out in the yard, and nothing hurt.

He glanced over at Sansa, red-faced from laughing at Robb's antics. She saw him and made a goofy face, and she looked as free as he felt. 

Soon.

He would ask her soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been my greatest priority all summer, and it is hard to say goodbye to it now. I have attempted to handle difficult subjects with sensitivity and compassion, and to use my limited platform to speak out specifically for male victims of abuse, who are so often disregarded or derided. I hope very much that my writing is passable and my message clear, and I am very grateful for all the support, both quiet and in comments, that you have all given me. This is the longest fic I've written since 2006, and I would like to give my especial gratitude to those who have stuck with me and this Jon to the end. 
> 
> I am very excited about other projects, but I'll return to this fandom sooner or later, so keep an eye out for me! May the fics you find have your most favorite tropes :)


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